The Gulf of Mexico

Among my favorite childhood memories....

My mother took us out to Fort De Soto Park to play on the sandy beaches and scamper around the fort itself. Strategically, the fort was built to protect the entrance to Tampa Bay from the Gulf of Mexico. The fort is named for Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto, who led 9 ships in 1539 to the Florida coast on the Gulf of Mexico side. 

By the way, my paternal grandfather for a stint served as a pilot bringing ships from the Gulf of Mexico into Tampa Bay. He would guide them from Egmont Key, which sits in the Gulf of Mexico, safely into the bay. 

My maternal grandfather often carried me fishing--his way of phrasing it--with him up to John's Pass, which carries the tide in and out between the Gulf of Mexico and Boca Ciega Bay. Most often we would fish the incoming tide and catch dozens of speckled trout and sometimes saltwater catfish and less often small stingrays. Ebb tides flowing back to the Gulf of Mexico would bring good sized reds as well.

My paternal grandmother enjoyed swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and so she would take me, and sometimes my younger sister too, out to St. Pete Beach for a swim and a light lunch. She was diligent about keeping us out of the water for half an hour after we ate our tuna sandwiches. Many times we were close to the Don Cesar Hotel, which looked like a huge pink cake trimmed with icing. The hotel offered spectacular sunset views across the Gulf of Mexico. 

In the summer of '63, my family rented a cottage at Bradenton Beach, another barrier island separating the Gulf of Mexico from Palma Sola Bay and Bradenton. Often, when we went to the beach in the morning, no one else was there. Because we were the first most days, I would toss pieces of riprap out into the shallow water to chase off stingrays. Even early in the morning, the Gulf of Mexico water would be warm.

That year we moved to Sarasota and that meant multiple trips across the Sunshine Skyway Bridge to see my grandparents in St. Pete. The bridge, around five and a half miles long, separates the Gulf of Mexico from Tampa Bay. Coming home and sitting in the back on the passenger side provided a fantastic view from 180' above the Gulf of Mexico.

Living in Sarasota changed our favorite beaches to Longboat Key and Siesta Key, both barrier islands situated between Sarasota Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. 

Then in 1965, we moved away from the Gulf of Mexico to another good sized body of water, Lake Superior. 

Of course, at that time it never occurred to me that the Gulf of Mexico should be renamed to increase my pride as a citizen of the United States.

Guess I was not ready to set aside childish ideas.  

Senior Moments

Another "school dream". This time an English 4 class--Brit lit--seniors and I are reading Macbeth out loud. They are just several months away from finishing their public school years. They are feeling chatty. I am pushing ahead, reading the part of Macbeth and offering commentary along the way. I fuss--not too stridently. They settle for a bit. More chatting. I move to a student desk next to two of the more disinterested students. Some focus. More chatting. I address students by name. Less noise, more Macbeth. Then, more chatting. 

I wake, grumpy. Another school dream? Damn, I think, still after 11 years retired. I know, I've read dreams are a way to clean out memory files. But every school dream I have is underscored by frustration or some level of anxiety. How much more does my mind need to clear out? I'm 71. Will this type of dream still be part of my mental landscape at 81? Or 91? 

Will I still be around at 81? Even with 90-year-old parents, 91 seems preposterous.

Yes, such thoughts cross my mind. 

A couple of days ago I headed to the master bath to grab a spray bottle of glass cleaner for the front windows. Instead I went into the kitchen and opened the freezer.

Yes, that moment gave me pause. More than a pause.

Unconscious desire for blueberries battling the conscious decision to do a chore? A serious senior moment? I don't know.

I do know I fumble now more often than I remember with keys, silverware, small tools. With pencils and pens, eye glasses, coffee cups. Always thought I had pretty good hands and pretty good grip strength. Now, well I'm not so sure.

Yesterday a woman who looked to be around 50 took my empty grocery cart: "Hon, I'll put that up for you". Nice, of course, but I would call her tone one of helping-the-old-guy-out. 

It does occur to me that what I think of as defining news events in my life often took place more than half a century ago. JFK's assassination, MLK's and RFK's assassinations, Chicago 1968, the conduct of the Vietnam War, the moon landing, Nixon's resignation. 

Obvious moments, some of the jokey kind. Body a little sore for no reason I can explain. What I mowed in 90 minutes several years ago, now 2 sessions of nearly 60 minutes. Time steady by the day, fleeting by the week, the month, the year.  

Hey, at least I can still push the damn mower. 

Ah, victory!

Emotions are a little less in check. Not that I've been emotionless most of my life, but I seem quicker to feel sorrow, especially for others. Misty-eyed unexpectedly on news that is not mine personally. Especially parents pulling children from rubble. 

On the plus side, I rarely feel anger. Appears a waste of energy to me these days.  Besides, haven't I seen most situations resolve over time? These, too, most likely will pass is the vibe.

I have a friend of half a century who always reminds me of his wish to live to 115. I groan when I hear this. Another 45 years--47 for him--I ask: Why?

"I can't imagine not being here," he says. 

I think of all that has happened in my life since I was 26. Wow.

I'm going with my simple mantra that upright is all right. Each day. One at a time.